


through the forest of denial

by toocoldforyouhere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Overuse of the word beautiful, brief mentions of smuts (descriptions?), harry wants him to feel beautiful, kind of louis-centric, lack of proper capitalization, louis is insecure, mentions a mirror a lot, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toocoldforyouhere/pseuds/toocoldforyouhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“lou,” harry sighs. “lou, open the door, yeah?”</p>
<p>“no,” louis is crying. harry can tell by the quiver is his delicate voice. “go away!”</p>
<p>harry stays by the door, dragging his knuckles along the intricate swirls in the wood, tracing them, memorizing them.</p>
<p>“please, lou.” he hears the click of the lock.</p>
<p>“it's open.” </p>
<p>(large hands thrusting the door open, soft thumbs wiping away at louis' tears, soft lips forming the words, “come on, pretty baby, don't you cry.”)</p>
<p>or the one where louis in insecure and harry does all he can to make him feel beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	through the forest of denial

**Author's Note:**

> this work is fiction. i don't own any of the characters, etc.
> 
> title from forest by system of a down.
> 
> unbeta'ed. mistakes are mine!

**through the forest of denial**

-

insecurities pile up under his skin like dollar bills pile up in the collection plate they pass around at church. he is too short, too chubby, too pale; his teeth are too yellow, too crooked, too pointy; his eyes are too small, too pale, too crinkly round the corners when he smiles too big; his hair is too ratty, too cardboard brown, too thin; his voice is too high, too girlish, too grating on the nerve; his lips are too thin, too subdued, too small. the list goes on and on.

-

he doesn't understand why _he_ stays with him. _he_ is beautiful. _he_ is tall, thin, just the right amount of pale; _his_ teeth are white, straight, regularly canine; _his_ eyes are wide, dark, unwrinkled; _his_ hair is smooth, chocolate brown, thick, wavy; _his_ voice is thick, slow, soothing, easy; _his_ lips are plump, bubblegum pink, large, but in a way that just fits. the list goes on and on.

-

and yet _he_ insists that he is perfect.

he doesn't believe a word _he_ says.

-

_his_ name is harry. sometimes he makes louis feel beautiful.

sometimes.

-

harry's hands are ridiculous, louis thinks. they are very large with long, pale, and elegant fingers. they are calloused, veiny, strong, but almost delicate.

louis thinks about harry's ridiculous as they card through his feather-like hair on a quiet sunday evening.

-

the full-length mirror louis bought is his favorite enemy. louis eyes over his every flaw, his every imperfection, making mental notes in his head on what he needs to change.

the full-length mirror louis bought is harry's least favorite enemy.

-

“lou,” harry sighs. “lou, open the door, yeah?”

“no,” louis is crying. harry can tell by the quiver is his delicate voice. “go away!”

harry stays by the door, dragging his knuckles along the intricate swirls in the wood, tracing them, memorizing them.

“please, lou.” he hears the click of the lock.

“it's open.” 

(large hands thrusting the door open, soft thumbs wiping away at louis' tears, soft lips forming the words, “come on, pretty baby, don't you cry.”)

-

“i'm gonna make you feel beautiful.”

slow voice, soothing like honey in tea.

-

harry hides the mirror.

louis cries, tears running down his face so quickly that his vision his blurred.

strong arms wrap around him, pull him onto the bed and into the darkness that lies under the covers. gentle fingers rub patterns into his skin, soft voice whispers reassurances that he's not sure he believes.

he listens anyway.

-

“please let me make you feel beautiful.”

slow voice, soothing like honey in tea, desperate to give louis the world.

“you can try.”

bittersweet honesty laid out on the table.

harry picks it up, rolls it around in between his fingertips.

he can work with it.

-

lips on his eyelids,  
lips on his nose,  
lips on his cheekbones,  
lips on his lips,  
lips on his chin,  
lips on his jaw,  
lips under his ears,  
lips crawling along his neck,  
lips dancing on his collarbones,  
lips making him squeal,  
lips trailing down his stomach,  
lips tracing his hipbones,  
lips brushing his things,  
lips tickling his knees,  
lips telling lies that sound strangely like truths.

-

the line between pain and pleasure is very thin.

there are pale, white lines of pain on louis' thighs that he once mistook for pleasure.

there is something inside him that blurs that line very clearly. his name falls from louis' lips like a vice.

the line between love and hate is very thin.

-

“do you feel beautiful yet?”

_he_ is a catalyst, louis thinks.

“not yet. try again?”

hope in that too high voice shines through like the sun between crying clouds.

-

louis' small, tan hand fits perfectly in harry's large, pale one. louis' fingers slot between harry's fingers like a missing puzzle piece.

louis cries and harry kisses his tears away.

louis feels strangely beautiful, moans breaking through the damn that is his lips.

-

harry's fingers trace over every inch of louis' skin. his lips follow, his eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses in their wake.

louis giggles and runs his own fingers through harry's buoyant curls.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

-

harry puts the mirror back. he pulls louis by the hand to stand in front of it. one article of clothing after another is removed. harry makes love to louis with sweet words and slow emotions.

louis cries, clinging onto harry, small fingernails drawing red marks along a pale back.

-

harry spends a lot of time with louis in front of that mirror. louis can't grasp why harry wastes so much effort on a worthless cause. he asks and the answer is always the same.

“because I love you, lou.”

the words resonate in louis' mind. sometimes he stands in front of the mirror by himself, looking for what harry sees.

he is beginning to see light around the edges of his darkness.

-

“do I make you feel beautiful?”

the question hangs in the air, heavy like winter fog.

“yes.”

the answer lingers in the air, light like the summer sun.

-

harry's arms around louis' waist, standing in front of the mirror. harry's warm breath on louis' neck.

“you're beautiful.” whispers in angelic tones.

“I know.”

-

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! x


End file.
